Mercy for the Merciless
by Silenthunder
Summary: Barabbas was the scum of the earth, worthy of death. But he received something much different.
1. Choosing The Zealot

The rough-looking man ducked, the sword screaming as it made a deadly arc over his head. He came forward like lightning, his own sword turned to thrust into his opponent's side. Unfortunately, it was blocked at the last moment, and the other fighter pushed, sending the first man stumbling back to where his three followers were grouped defensively, battling with all they had.

"Barabbas!" one of the other rebels shouted. "I don't think we can make it!"

The insurrectionist leader spat angrily at the nervous one. "Of course we can! Kill them, you witless fool! Kill the Roman dogs!"

"Give it up, Barabbas," the commander of the red-cloaked soldiers said. "You won't last long if you keep resisting."

In a moment, the warning proved true. The scared rebel was cut down with a swift thrust by one of the soldiers, and Barabbas saw that he and his gang were truly outmatched. He pulled back from his adversary, holding up his free hand in a sign of surrender. "Stop, stop!" Dropping his weapon to the ground, he held out his hands to be chained. The remaining two insurrectionists did the same.

As they were put on a lead chain, Barabbas sneered at the captain. "You've won today, Roman dog, but only this time! Next time you'll see who's better."

The captain glared at him. Then without warning, he struck the criminal hard on the cheek, sending him staggering. "There won't be a next time, not for a robber and murderer like you. Keep a close eye on them, men. Use force if necessary, but don't hurt them too much. We've got a nice prize to show Pilate!"

The soldiers laughed as the prisoners struggled against their bonds, bound unwillingly for the dungeons. When they got to Judea, the section of Israel governed by Pilate, the criminals were not even given a trial. Their past actions proved enough, and soon they were all thrown into prison, with death as the only way of freedom left.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

Privately, Barabbas had always idolized John, the one they had called the Baptizer. John had come from the desert, a rough looking person with an unkempt beard and long, tangled hair. But he had a fire in him that everyone respected – or seemed to. He spoke of the coming Kingdom, a voice in the wilderness as Isaiah had prophesied, a new tongue for God after 400 years of silence.

He spoke directly to anyone and everyone, giving his messages plain and hard, covering nothing with sweetness and flattery. He spoke the truth, attacking corruption wherever he saw it, and even went against Herod Antipas for marrying Herodias, his brother's wife _and_ his half-brother's daughter. He spoke out against it for the sin that it was.

Such zeal had inspired Barabbas and many of those who had become Zealots. But now John was gone. And now there was a new voice.

They'd all heard of him. How could they not? The news of a new prophet in Israel was always sure to be discovered by everyone. Barabbas and his fellow rebels had listened skeptically to the stories of miracles and teachings of this new Chosen One, stories becoming more like fantasy each week. Word was that he'd been traveling to Jerusalem. And now he was here, in Judea, in the city of Jerusalem.

With not much of a friendship among the Pharisees, it seemed. They were planning something, had been for a long time. Maybe that plan would be achieved, now that the miracle-worker was in the capital.

His thoughts were interrupted at the jingle of keys in the lock. His cell door opened to reveal a guard. "Get up, scum. It's the Jew's Passover Choice."

Barabbas's face was hard as stone as he was led to his doom. He had committed enough for his death to be assured. Murder, bribery – you name it, he'd done it. The shouting of the crowd reached his ears, fierce and loud. They wanted revenge. They would get it through his crucifixion, no doubt.

Once he stood on the balcony, on Pilate's left, he glanced over at the other prisoner. Even with all his years of delivering gruesome wounds, he was slightly taken aback. The other man was covered with bruises, blood threatening to run down his face, his garment torn until it was practically shredded. He had his eyes closed, his expression strangely calm, as if isolated from the noise of the vast mob below that flooded out of the courtyard.

Pilate, dressed to perfection, held his hands upwards in a sign for quiet. The crowd hushed, watching the governor expectantly.

"You brought me this man as one who was an insurrectionist," he said, gesturing to the other man. "I have examined him, as your chief priests requested, and have found nothing to deserve death. Now apparently Herod has reached the same conclusion and sent him back to us. This man is innocent. I will therefore have him flogged, and then release him."

The crowd instantly made known their disapproval. Among the shouts, one name was discernable:

"Barabbas! Barabbas! Give us Barabbas!"

So this was how fervent their desire for the other man's death was. They would rather have Barabbas released than this other person who remained silent.

Pilate had to raise his voice to be heard. "But Barabbas _is_ an insurrectionist, and a murderer! You want him freed instead of this Jesus?"

Barabbas turned, shocked. So this was Jesus, the prophet that he had heard nothing but good about. And here he was, condemned to death by the crowd, who made sure that the governor knew of their opinion by creating even more noise.

For the first time, Pilate looked afraid, knowing he would have a riot on his hands if he didn't comply. With a signal, a servant came to his master's side, holding a silver bowl with water in it. The governor dipped his hands into the liquid, and then held them up. "See," he called, "I have cleansed myself of the whole thing. You take Jesus and do with him as you will."

Some were so taken with bloodlust that they replied, "His blood be on us and on our children!"

A guard removed Barabbas' chains, but the former prisoner did not take his eyes off Jesus, even as the murderer was led away amid the cheers of the mob and let go of at the edge of the mass. Instead of leaving, however, he decided to stay.

In no time at all, Jesus came outside, flanked by guards, his back covered with fresh whip-wounds. He would be taken to a place where his cross was, waiting to be carried to the Hill of the Skull. The crowd jeered, throwing stones and rotten fruit. The guards did little to stop them.

Barabbas watched as the prophet shuffled farther down the street. Then he followed the crowd to see the end.

**AN: I was thinking of continuing this through the eyes of the saved thief. What do you think?**


	2. A Thief's King

Nothing had been ordinary.

There had been no struggle for escape from this Man as He was pushed against the wooden instrument of death. No curses thrown at the Roman who pounded the nails into the flesh. Instead He lay still, submissive. He had screamed, of course, as the nails went in, tearing skin and muscle, pinning Him to the cross. He had howled as the cross was lifted upright and slammed into the ground, sending a fiery wave of pain throughout His beaten body.

But then, once He had caught His breath, He had prayed, murmuring the words low, so that only those who were there to die alongside Him heard it.

Adler was confused. Nothing this Man had done made sense. And yet, it did.

He had watched sympathetically as Jesus raised His head and cried out fearfully, quoting the twenty-second psalm of King David. He had listened to the jeers and weeping from the crowd. And he knew.

This Man was the Chosen One. He had taken Barabbas' place. All the true prophets had been scorned and mocked. It was the same with this One. Adler didn't know how he knew, he just knew without a doubt that this was the promised King.

Alder bowed his head. The priests, those who had been trained in the holiest ways, disregarded the Person they had prayed for. They had demanded that the sign over Jesus' head, the one proclaiming Him as King, be taken down. The Roman solider overseeing the executions had ignored the request. Just like he also ignored the younger soldiers gathered in a circle around Jesus' one-piece garment and sandals. It was a rare thing to gamble for a criminal's clothing, but rarely did condemned men have something valuable to wear.

Now, as Alder's eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness – an impossibility at high noon, but there nonetheless – he saw the chief solider holding up a long sick with a large piece of wet herb on it. Everyone there recognized it – gall, a very bitter plant that when mixed with wine, would numb the body from pain. Surely Jesus would take of this temporary relief. He could not be such a fool.

"Here's something to drink," the solider said, offering the mixture.

Jesus barely tasted it before He moved His head away, a barely audible "No" coming from his mouth.

The other thief and companion of Barabbas, Lieb, called to the solider. "Hey Roman, give me some! I want something to drink!"

"I didn't ask you," was the reply.

Lieb then turned his gaze on Jesus. "Drink it, you fool!"

Alder couldn't take it anymore. Lieb had been cursing Him all day. So had Alder, but now he knew better. He felt the need to say something since Jesus remained silent. "Leave Him alone!"

"You think He's the Messiah? Well, if He is, He's a pretty poor one. Go on, Messiah – save yourself, and us!"

"Oh, shut up!" Alder yelled, then fell back against the cross, exhausted from lack of energy. He continued in a quieter tone. "Have you no fear of God? We are getting what we deserve for our crimes, but He..." Alder took another breath, feeling life would leave him soon. "He has done nothing wrong."

Lieb snorted and turned his head away as his breath became uneven. "The only wrong thing I did was get caught."

Alder turned to the man in between the two of them, his voice growing quieter. "Jesus?"

The all-seeing eyes slowly opened to look at him. Alder had never known eyes like these, with a gaze full of love despite the agony.

"Remember me when You come into Your Kingdom."

Alder could barely hear the replying voice, faint and laden with exhaustion and pain. "Truly...I say to you...today you will be Me in Paradise."

Barely a minute later did Jesus offer up His Spirit to God. And not long after that Alder and Lieb died, thanks to the soilders who bent their legs so far the bones snapped, sending a fiery wave of pain that brought the final darkness in its wake.

But Alder was sure that the darkness was not final.

He knew, in his singing heart, that it was just a finale to the dawn of death.

**AN: This is my response to your reviews. I hope you enjoyed it. Both the thieves' names are Hebrew, of course. Lieb means lion, and Alder means eagle. The Lord bless you, reader.**


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